Mozart's Requiem

Mozart's Requiem
I listened to a fantastic recording of a choral and orchestral performance Mozart's Requiem this evening. There are no words that I can find to describe the exhilaration, beauty and sadness of this work. A few of the pieces were familiar but much of it I heard as if for the first time.

I could not understand the words, my knowledge of classical music is very limited, and yet these are no obstacles to enjoying the music. It was absolutely breathtaking.

I sat down at my computer, planning to do something else with my earphones on, but I couldn't take my eyes off the performance.

There were parts that brought out such deep sadness. It seemed that every pain I had suffered was being remembered and yet, being able to feel it amidst such beauty somehow made it bearable and even worthy.

The joyful sections were magical and made me float. Every emotion that the music brought forth from within was pure and uplifting. It gave me hope for humanity and for this world in which we see so much negativity every day.

If we could only carry Mozart's song in our hearts everywhere we went, we would not, we could not harm another.

The Moment
Margaret Atwood

The moment when, after many years
of hard work and a long voyage
you stand in the centre of your room,
house, half-acre, square mile, island, country,
knowing at last how you got there,
and say, I own this,

is the same moment when the trees unloose
their soft arms from around you,
the birds take back their language,
the cliffs fissure and collapse,
the air moves back from you like a wave
and you can't breathe.

No, they whisper. You own nothing.
You were a visitor, time after time
climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming.
We never belonged to you.
You never found us.
It was always the other way round.

It's the truth when I say I have never owned a piece of real estate. There was a short time in Alberta when we were new home owners. Not really, because the bank loaned us the money to buy it so I don't think that counted. For many years, in my mind, having and owning your own home seemed the ultimate goal. Everyone who could did, and those who couldn't dreamed and yearned. I'm sixty years old and I'm content that I don't own a house. In fact, I don't own much at all. And yet, I've never felt richer and more blessed. 

ZUNI SHALAKO

Dear family,

The last 24 hours have been memorable for me. Around 4 pm yesterday, Gina and I drove south from Gallup to the Zuni pueblo on their reservation. The landscape had juniper and pinon forests and beautiful plateaus and rocky outcrops called Painted Cliffs.We pulled into the hard packed dirt yard in front of a modest double trailer home of Daniele and Kelly and their two young children--4 year old Aliciana and 6 year old Ben with silky black tresses that hang straight down below his waist and who would like to cut his hair against his mother's wishes. As we unloaded our contribution of soda pop, dried fruit and popcorn, extended family of siblings and cousins --some who had traveled from far --- were taking care of last minute preparations--stoking the fire in an outdoor pit; vacuuming the living room rug and setting three tables and chairs for dinner. Around 8 pm after darkness had settled, and I had played uncountable games of I Spy and Hot Hands with 7 hungry children between the ages of 3 and 9, muffled drumming in the distance signaled leave to begin the night's festivities. Daniele put a little portion of every dish into a bowl and a piece of bread was handed to everyone present as we gathered outside around the fire. Daniele said a prayer in Zuni and emptied the food on the red coals as an offering to ancestors. We all followed suit and threw our morsels into the fire. We breathed in the clouds of steam and left the door ajar after we had returned into the warmth of the house so that departed ancestors could enter at will.

The children were served first and they dipped homemade bread baked in outdoor mud ovens into steaming bowls of hominy and mutton soup. Hominy is a dried and specially treated corn kernel. Large chunks of meat and bones were fished out with little fingers and devoured intently. The adults had their turn next and in addition to the soup were treated to red chili stew of potatoes and beef, and steamed corn tamales. We sat or stood around informally. I tore pieces of bread from the large hand formed loaves and soaked them in the clear greasy broth and gravy of the dishes heartily enjoying everything every though I ate mostly potatoes and discreetly hid the fact that I was a vegetarian. For dessert we had store bought but nevertheless yummy chocolate cake. Friends and neighbors dropped by to say hello; some stayed to eat a little, others moved on to the next house. An awkward moment ensued when a very drunken cousin stumbled through the front door.

A little before midnight eight of us women and two little boys bundled up in woollies and drove to a Shalako hosted house. The dirt roads leading up to the house were packed with cars, so we had to walk a little way. It was at this point that it became clear to me that we were not going to enter any of the Shalako homes. A Shalako home is a new but unfinished structure. Walls, ceilings, doors and windows have been installed but the floors are still dirt. The front room was spacious and large with split levels with a sunken stage and raised wooden platforms around the outer edges of the room that resembled an amphitheater--or an ancient Kiva. My guess is that it accommodated around 200 participants and spectators. To enter and not stay for a few hours would have been impolite so hundreds of others--included our group--milled around outside and crowded around windows to watch the proceedings inside before heading to the next house. Everyone was respectful and quiet; a hushed whisper could be heard now and again. Inside the hall was lavishly decorated with rugs, shawls and hides hanging from ceiling to floor. Mounted animals heads that included, elk, a variety of deer species, bison, cougars, foxes and wolves hung from the walls. At one house I counted a total of 20 heads of deer. Some with heads with huge antlers seemed to stick out 4 or 5 feet from the wall. I saw a beautiful stuffed wild turkey with wings stretched out on one wall. Many of the animals had necklaces and other jewelry on them. Bottled water, bowls of fruit and other delicacies were served to the people inside and outside the homes. The ceremonies of drumming, singing, chanting, and dancing continued through the night and ended at sunrise and were carried out exclusively by men. I have never seen so much silver and turquoise in one place before.

After standing in the below freezing cold night air and chilled to the bone, we returned home around 3:00 am after visiting two houses. A pot of hot coffee warmed and kept us awake. Food was heated and consumed again. More firewood was added to the wood stove. Children fell asleep cradled in laps and huddled on sofas; some adults dozed on and off; others watched TV and chatted. Around 5 am. Kelly, Gina and I went out again to a third Shalako house. There were six houses in total. The third house had the largest variety of costumes and masks--ten dancers in all. The dancing figures in the picture I downloaded from the web resembled very closely the second house. We returned to the house, said our goodbyes and headed out of town and back to Gallup in the rose tinted sky of the predawn of a Zuni new year.

Gina took me straight to catch my 8:30 am Amtrak train home. I slept most of the way home. No one is allowed to capture the event on camera and I didn't miss the flashing bulbs and hands holding up cell phone cameras that are commonplace everywhere else. I felt honored and privileged to be so intimately involved with the family of our hosts, and to witness this once in a lifetime event.